SGA fic: Letter of Credence

Title: Letter of Credence
Author: Evangeline
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: PG 13
WC: 5273
AN: Endless thanks to ceitie for betaing and introducing me to Rodney and John in the first place. One day we, too, shall dine in the tower.
Summary: "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you home," John said simply.

~*~

Rodney dropped his bags when they reached the door to his townhouse. "You didn't have to do this," he said, studying his snow-soaked runners and rummaging in a pocket for keys.

"You wouldn't have been able to carry all your bags," John replied, placing luggage down as he leaned against the porch fence. He shivered, remembering the cold of Antarctica, and thinking how different it was from this deep chill: heavy and piercing in its isolation.

"So you're here as my personal bell boy," Rodney scoffed. The keys shook in his fingers; he told himself it was on purpose.

John's gaze was fixed heavenward. "I've always thought their uniforms were kind of neat."

Rodney turned around to face him, eyes brimming with accusation, confusion, and something akin to fear. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you home," John said simply.

Rodney leaned against the door, eyes closed, keys clattering to the ground. "That's someplace far away."

*

The transition back to Earth was easy, and it made Rodney twitch. Stargate Command asked him a few questions, offered him sandwiches, and put him on the next plane to Toronto. It was said the inquest would take a few days to get underway – there were intel reports to peruse and legal formalities to attend to. They told him to take this time to breathe.

However, this was difficult when each intake of air made him want to choke, in much the same manner as those who lacked it. Rodney imagined how his team must have grappled for breath until their lungs collapsed, bodies stiffening with the poison released from a small, unmarked metal orb. Dissecting alien technology was his responsibility, but it had been a long day, and Miko told him to take a nap. It sounded like a good idea at the time.

Atlantis sang in alarm after the fact. Rodney wrestled against the fail-safe protocols that sealed the lab door, useless and numb.

John had given him a candid punch to the jaw. You can't save the dead.

He'd wanted to tell them he could; he burned with brilliance and he could bring them to life. Instead, he collapsed to his knees, surrounded by stillness, drowning in hysteria.

*

Midmorning light filtered into the room through a set of dusty blinds. John rubbed at his eyes and stretched, taking in his surroundings. Rodney's guest room was sparse like most of the house. There was a bed, a bedside table with a lamp, a desk, and a shelf packed with books. It was minimal, yet comfortable: the bed was downy, the sheets were soft, and there were remnants of Rodney's childhood scattered on the desk.

There was a picture of Rodney and his sister in their school uniforms, carrying music folders. She was tugging on his sleeve and he was grinning lopsidedly. It was taken before they became strangers.

John got dressed and walked out into the living room. He could see Rodney in the kitchen making omelettes. "Want me to get the juice?"

"There isn't any. I forgot to pick some up this morning when I went to get the basics." Rodney offered the first omelette to John. "No onions."

"Thanks." John sat on a stool by the breakfast counter and looked out the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard. "Did you ever do anything with it?"

Rodney followed his gaze and shook his head. "Never had the time. I was either working or asleep." He paused, then, "Actually, I tried planting tomatoes once, but then I went away," he gestured to another galaxy, "so they're probably gone now."

John nodded, making space for the other man as he joined him at the counter. "We should get tomatoes later. I feel like I could buy out a grocery store."

"We could," Rodney shrugged.

John studied the mechanical way Rodney ate. He was reminded of his first time in a military mess hall, when a lieutenant made them move in tandem to his commands. One, acquire; two, lift; three, retrieve; four, swallow; repeat. After a while, he stood and said, "I'll wash the dishes."

Rodney pushed his half-eaten plate away. "You don't have to. The machine can take care of it."

John took it for him. "I don't mind."

"Colonel," Rodney began – he fell silent for a moment as he watched John scrub the dishes.

Sheppard waited. He could sense thoughts fluttering behind Rodney's darting eyes but preferred to hear them aloud.

"Yeah, um," said McKay, getting up and running a hand through his ruffled hair. "Let's get food and some other stuff. I'll go change."

John was ready before Rodney, who'd been perplexed while trying to find something to wear in his closet.

"I don't recall my taste ever being this abysmal," McKay muttered, holding up a Hawaiian shirt.

"That is kind of painful," John added, leaning in the doorway.

Rodney peered at John's black ensemble. "Mimes aren't supposed to talk. In any case, my old clothes are a kind of loose so I'll have to get new ones. We'll get you a beret."

Neither of them were too excited about the idea of traipsing around a mall, so they explored the downtown area. The streets were still crowded but the open air was a familiar escape any time they started feeling suffocated – it was as easy as looking up. By noon, all Rodney had purchased was a small painting from a local artist sitting on flattened cardboard with her dog. The stylistic rendition of a sunset in the city was twenty dollars; Rodney gave her a burnt gold hundred, telling her to keep the change as he patted the dog's head.

"It feels like monopoly money," McKay shrugged, holding the painting loosely against his chest.

"It looks like it," John said, studying a purple ten in his hand. "Never would've pegged you as an animal person, the way you hiss at children."

Rodney's expression soured and his walk became a little rigid. "That bitch stole my cat."

"What?"

"My neighbour," Rodney growled. "Ex-neighbour. That trollop made off with my cat after I trusted her to look after him in my absence. The unit beside mine is now harbouring a stockbroker with a mullet. I met him this morning – I already hate him."

"Of course you do." John smiled as an idea hit him. "Do you want to get a cat after lunch?"

Rodney froze and looked at John with wide, disbelieving eyes. "No," he spat, before stomping into the nearest pub, leaving a disoriented colonel in his wake.

They ate poutine while watching hockey, downing pints every time the home team scored. It was a rerun but that didn't really matter much since everybody was either a devoted fan or drunk.

"Go, Leafs, go!" Rodney yelled with conviction, not intoxicated but happily buzzed.

John devoured the fries and gravy, marvelling at the genius of cheese on top of it all. He made a sound of approval.

"Our beer's better too, eh? That's why I could always drink you under the table, even if Athosian brew leaves a fuzzy sensation in my mouth." Rodney arrested the waiter's attention and made a circular gesture in the air with his finger.

Sheppard took a swig as the Leafs goalie blocked a shot. "Another round? Shouldn't we try to stay a little sober for the shopping we still need to do?"

Rodney gave him an odd look. "I ordered onion rings."

John gave up and downed the rest of his pint. He said nothing when the waiter showed up with more drinks.

They were walking straight lines by the time they set out again. There was a pet store a couple of blocks from the grocery, which John pointedly ignored. He'd realized at some point during the meal that McKay took offence to the idea of replacing his lost pet, and he was proud of arriving at the revelation. Even Rodney was capable of having soft spots, apparently.

They needed all their hands for the food anyway since it was imperative they tried every new kind of snack that had been invented since they left. Rodney insisted on fruits as well, and in the end he bought a van to get all their groceries home.

"You made me wait an hour to get an SUV?" John tried to sound irritated but really he thought it was cool how they could just do that. Suddenly, he lit up. "I want a Hummer."

"Of course you do," Rodney huffed as he hefted a bucket of apples into the trunk. "Help me with these."

John crossed his arms and leaned. "Why can't I get a Hummer?"

"Because you're going back!" Rodney snapped. The bag of kettle corn chips he was holding exploded in his hands and he cursed quietly as he dusted himself off, keeping his eyes down so as not to meet those of the onlookers. "Pass me the other bags."

John did so without a word.

*

They made sandwiches that night and watched TV. It was as good a substitute for conversation as any, and perhaps a bit less draining. They sat through half of a James Bond marathon before taking turns in the shower. Rodney was in bed by the time John finished, and he grabbed a cup of warm water before turning in himself.

It was pancakes for breakfast the next morning and John was the first to the stove. Rodney made a low growling noise and John pointed to the pot of fresh coffee. McKay accepted the offering and grunted as if to say ‘you are spared today, lowly mortal.'

"Did you sleep well? You don't look like you slept well." John looked up in between flipping flapjacks.

"Who needs two-sided discourse with you around?" Rodney sat at the counter and reached for the Star. He flipped through the news, muttering something about the inanity of minority governments before looking up, making a mental backtrack, and clearing his throat three times.

"Are you choking?" John asked offhandedly. "Can you wait until this one's golden brown?"

"No, and thanks for letting me know I come in second only to fried cake batter." Rodney fidgeted in his seat and basically looked uncomfortable until John had to ask.

"Do you...have worms?"

"Colonel, do you smoke up in the mornings? Because, honestly, it would clear a lot of things up for me-"

"You can't blame me for asking, lest we forget the epidemic of M7l-"

"I did not get worms by going through the wormhole." Rodney glared at the comics section until a stack of pancakes appeared in front of him. "Thanks," he muttered, pouring syrup onto his breakfast.

John took a bite of his stack and was pleased to find he hadn't lost his touch. "So, spill."

"It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm trying to read Heart of the City. Leave me alone."

"Heart's cool. I like Dean."

Rodney stuffed his mouth in a manner that clearly said ‘it would be rude to speak right now and I am one of impeccable manners.'

John shrugged. "I guess I'm going to have to send in another parasitic alert for Ascaris Lumbricoides."

"I will end you." Rodney picked up his fork meaningfully.

John drank his orange juice and generally looked pleased with himself.

McKay glared at the wall behind John's head. "Will you put on a shirt?"

"I only brought two and they're both in the laundry. We can get your clothes today and I'll pick some up for myself, too."

"And in the meantime you'll run around topless?" Rodney gave a longsuffering sigh. "You can't go outside like that. I'll dig up a really old shirt of mine, from grad school, meaning when I was lean and jailbait and I found out one of my profs had a thing for young genius ass."

A pained expression flew across John's face before he lowered his head and groaned. "Please don't give me what you were wearing when your cherry was popped."

Rodney scoffed. "I had other shirts."

Sheppard still looked troubled. "Fine. Let's get off the topic. So you're really not going to tell me what was making you squirm?"

McKay considered John's perfectly serious expression. He passed a hand clear over his head and simply walked away.

*

Rodney had picked out a dark green shirt and tossed it to John, who silently wondered at the near-perfect fit. It was a bit tight around the abdomen but otherwise felt like one of his own tops. The smell made him think of a younger Rodney wearing musty aftershave. He didn't mind it.

They drove around looking for a decent clothing store, but most catered exclusively to women and those that didn't sold pastel oxford shirts and argyle sweaters. There was one boutique that looked promising, with solid black shirts and pants in the display window, but when they got closer they noticed the spikes and fishnet and decided to keep searching.

They'd almost conceded to braving the mall when John started tapping Rodney excitedly from the passenger seat. "Wal-Mart," he said; it sounded like a prayer.

Rodney followed his gaze and made a gleeful noise. "Future Shop!" he exclaimed, pointing to the neighbouring superstore.

"I'm going to get a hundred packs of glorious cotton shirts."

"I'll build the most comprehensive media library ever. And view it on a big screen, no, a ginormous screen, no! An Imax!"

John was practically buzzing in his seat. "Park it already and let's go."

Rodney chanted his newly composed ode to DVDs and iBooks there and back.

It took them less than an hour to fill two carts of clothing, which expanded to include socks and underwear. A couple of saleswomen pleaded with them to buy jeans and formalwear someplace befitting two such nice, seemingly well-off men. They acquiesced in lieu of escaping the predatory gazes with which they were being assailed. The same happened in the digital media shop.

"Doctor pheromones," John nodded as they walked back to the van. "Take me, I'm smart and I'm rich."

"Are you kidding? They were practically asking you to impregnate them on the spot. That woman did not drop her pen accidentally three times in a row." Rodney gave a low whistle as they neared his SUV. "Man, blondes. She could have done that all day and I wouldn't have minded giving her a hand each time."

John studied the other man out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah," he said, falling back a few steps. "Hey, uh, why don't we eat out tonight? Your shipment's not coming ‘til tomorrow and I haven't really seen much of your city yet, so. But if you don't want to that's cool, I can make something back at your place."

"The Tower," Rodney said, stopping in his tracks and looking west.

John looked to the horizon and saw the opulent colours of sunset bleeding into each other. It reminded him of his city, his home, and it was simultaneously calming and frightening to be looking at something so timeless, like an intrinsic truth. There were many silhouettes jutting towards the sky but one structure stood apart from the rest.

They grinned at each other and raced to the van.

*

"Rodney, it's moving." John sounded breathless.

The other man nodded. "That's what revolving restaurants do."

"I can see to forever." The colonel had already started gravitating to one of the window tables so Rodney followed, trying to look less like a tourist in a place that was supposed to be familiar.

A waiter approached them, smiling knowingly. "If you like this table, it's yours. Best view in the house."

John grinned. "You say that about all the tables."

Rodney cleared his throat. "Thanks," he said dismissively, eyeing the waiter as he gave them menus and left to allow them to get settled. He watched as John leaned towards the continuous window of the circular room, taking in every drop of vast nothingness and twinkling city lights. They were so high.

John smiled at the view. "It's easy to forget how beautiful this place is, too."

Rodney knew Sheppard meant something greater than the immediate panorama. The first time he had seen Earth from afar, he'd felt a tumbling rush of exhilaration, panic, serenity, protectiveness, and awe. She was a child and mother both, needing protection and offering a place to belong. He'd always be welcome here. But.

"Let's order," McKay said, turning to the list of specials, of choices over which he had control.

For appetizers, John ordered pingue bresaola while Rodney got the lavender honey roasted butternut squash bisque. They both decided to splurge for the main course and ordered the steak and lobster, which turned out to be the best meal of their lives, beating out the long-time reign of Mars bars after four days in alien captivity.

Rodney was almost in tears by the time they hit dessert. "I'd sooner pick my favourite child."

John was having a hard time choosing as well. "You usually make like you want to bite them," he reminded the other man.

"Exactly. I want to bite all of these. But especially the coconut buttermilk tart, oh my god." Rodney shivered.

John chuckled. "I'll get the chocolate profiteroles with vanilla bean ice cream."

"Say it again."

"Chocolate profiteroles."

"God."

Their waiter approached, once again all smiles. Rodney made a motion as though he was too spent to speak, so John ordered for them. Rodney contentedly listened.

Their desserts committed the meal into a nutritional hall of fame. John was a happy, well-fed man and Rodney looked as though he'd just had an out of body experience. They sent their compliments to the chef, Rodney going so far as to declare his love for the culinary artiste. This resulted in the head chef's visitation to their table, who invited them to come back anytime.

"So where are we off to now?" John asked, stepping out of the elevator.  He'd missed the sensation of popping ears and was inwardly amused as he listened to Rodney's voice grow louder with each step.
 
"I know a place," the other man replied.
 
They walked through streets with elaborate theatres, marquees, and hot dog vendors.   Rodney pointed out his favourite concert halls, the ones in which his mother used to play, but he didn't say much past "I used to go here a lot."  Everything was familiar yet novel, recognizable structures with new coats of paint and younger greeters at the doors.   Taking this route was like trying to reattach a severed arm, disconnected and foreign, and it was nice not having to walk it alone.
 
It was a long walk to the lake but it didn't feel like it.
 
"This is why I haven't moved to a vast Grecian isle," Rodney said, leaning on the metal railing.   "You get used to a place."

John heard more than saw the waves crashing against the barricade along the coast. "It gets so dark out here."

"The lights don't reach this far." Rodney breathed in deep and tasted saltiness at the back of his throat. "You didn't have to come this far, either."

"It wasn't that long of a walk," John replied, crossing his arms behind his head, bracing himself. "I know that's not what you meant."

"Hmm," said Rodney. "Are you going to make me ask again?"

John tried to look at him but there were only the dim lights of distant posts and the other man looked dull, almost fading. "I've told you why I'm here."

Rodney shook his head and held on to the railing. He made a sound akin to laughter. "How about we try honesty, for once, John? I grew out of playing games a long time ago."

"I haven't lied to you," John said. "Not for a long time." They stood in silence as wave after wave crashed against the barricade, filling in the empty space between them. "What do you want me to say?"

Rodney stared hard at the horizon, trying to discern where the water ended and the sky began. "It doesn't really matter if I go back or not. I can continue my work here if I have to, and Zelenka and I will find ways to keep communicating since I'm sure he knows he'll need my help and he doesn't have half my ego. My reason for going was professional – it was the best place for me to be. But I'll fare just as well here."

He didn't say They probably need someone to get real close and find out the dirty little details from me. He didn't ask Are you the one they sent?

Bowing his head and closing his eyes, Rodney touched his temple. He claimed he wanted honesty but all the things left unsaid were decaying into lies. He'd gone for the work, but he'd stayed for the people. One thing he knew about himself was that he had a hard time letting go. Another was that it was particularly for him to trust others when he couldn't even trust himself.

With closed eyes he said, "I wish you hadn't come."

John wished he could see Rodney's face. He wished those hadn't been Rodney's last words to him, but he knew he didn't deserve any better when he couldn't say what he crossed light years of space to say. When all his battles were done, he could still be a coward. "You should hear from the SGC soon." He placed his hand on the other man's shoulder. "Thanks for everything, Rodney."

Maybe the wind died down after John left, or perhaps Rodney was just a little numb. He didn't feel the cold much later when he was finally able to say, to no one in particular, "I stayed for you."

*

The guest room was empty by the time Rodney got home. He checked to make sure John hadn't forgotten anything then went to bed.

In the morning he made oatmeal, which turned out bland and overcooked, but he ate it. The newspaper kept him company during his meal and he went through all the sections before getting up from the table. He went to check his mail afterwards, which was mostly stacks of invitations and proposals from institutions that hadn't given up trying to lure him even through his absence. He tossed them on the table and went to watch TV.

His DVD collection had grown exponentially since his shipment came in and he went through the index – alphabetized in a binder and sectioned by genre – trying to find something distracting. In the end he just flipped to a random page and chose whichever film his finger landed on.

Halfway through Gladiator, the doorbell woke him from his light nap and he stretched his shoulder as he made his way to the door. He opened it to a grinning FedEx worker, and he barely suppressed the urge to strangle something.

"Good morning! Well, it's almost afternoon! Mr. McKay, I'm assuming?" There was nothing but air under that hat, Rodney could swear it.

"No, it's Dr. McKay. Give me the thing to sign already." Rodney fairly snatched the electronic invoice from the other man.

"These must be important documents, they were shipped priority. Express!" the FedEx worker beamed.

Rodney groaned. "Alright, it's signed. Give me my mail and go far, far away."

"Thank you for choosing FedEx!"

Rodney closed the door quickly. The package was marked urgent so he sat back on his couch and opened it. There were two unmarked brown envelopes inside. He opened the bigger one.

He did a mental double-take upon seeing the SGC insignia on the papers. They wouldn't trust FedEx with even the most inconsequential intel. The young man had to have been sergeant at the very least, ordered to deliver the package first hand and perhaps dress up in common delivery service gear to keep a low profile.

"They are so twisted," Rodney moaned. He suppressed a shiver and sank back into the couch, readying himself for the verdict on his future. He'd always been a rip-the-band-aid kind of guy, but this time he had to take a few steadying breaths.

The outcome of the inquest was such that the incident was deemed an unavoidable accident and no charges were pressed. If it had not been that particular group working to analyze alien technology, it would have been another. The personnel who'd helped with the aftermath were interviewed and they all testified on his behalf, stating that he did all he could to try and save the trapped scientists, but it had already been too late by the time anyone got there. Rodney flipped through the pages of testimonies, noting the names of Elizabeth, Radek, Laura, Carson and so on until he came to John.

And now he was going home, to a city that rose up from the ocean, filled with technology – dangerous and wonderful – that changed the course of their lives every day. Most importantly, it was a city filled with people who trusted him, and he might have been starting to trust them as well. He'd been almost sure that they'd finally turn on him after his long record of wins and losses, which was accentuated by occasional staggering, self-shattering failures. Reading through the files, however, it seemed that he was his own worse judge.

He put down the stack and opened the other envelope. It contained one sheet of pristine paper folded in half.

I didn't lie. I wanted to see you home.

Rodney leaned his head back and shut his eyes tight. Maybe this way he could keep the tears in.

*

Once he'd regained a clear head, it was easy enough to hack into SGC files even though they'd had to keep upping the ante on their security after multiple successful attempts by Rodney. He wrote down the address of the hotel John was staying in, and just when he was about to turn off his computer an e-mail notification popped up from one S. Carter. You could have just asked, it read, and he could almost see Sam rolling her eyes and huffily decided not to dignify it with a response.

Rodney parked his van and hurried to the elevators, barking out his destination to the attendant as though that would make the lift go faster. Others in the compartment gave him looks as he fidgeted all the way up to the eleventh floor and he muttered, "Heights make me nervous," as though they were all strange for not agreeing.

He brisk-walked down the hall – because running was undignified when a Wraith wasn't making hungry eyes at your six – and pounded on John's door.

"I'm sorry I'm a total plebeian I'll do all the mission reports for a month when we get back here I got you a chocolate ferris wheel," and he shoved the shiny red box, which was bordering on saccharine with its big red bow, to empty air for practice. He almost couldn't believe he'd stormed seven different chocolatiers before finally having the thing custom made, except he could because this was John and he'd messed up on a nuclear scale. It was a habit he'd been trying to break.

He pounded on the door again and went through the verbal diarrhea in his head, trying to clean it up even a little before he was forced to face the man who'd followed him through galaxies to save his ass after he'd shooed him away. If he was any more antsy, he'd twitch his clothes right off.

"John, come on, I'm sorry," he whined, feeling as pathetic as he sounded. And suddenly, because he was a genius, he knew the room was already empty and had been before he got the letter telling him that people trusted him and gave a damn, even as he gave them nothing back but cynicism and suspicion, aside from invaluable astrophysical work, that is. He slid down John's door like so much grime on a bathroom wall, except grime didn't slide and he couldn't even emulate filth right.

He would have banged his head repeatedly if the door hadn't opened and John hadn't asked, "Who's mewling outside my room?"

Rodney, sprawled on the floor, opened his mouth to say all the things he'd practiced on the way over except what came out was, "I can almost see up your towel," and he was a little surprised that it sounded like take one more step forward, please but he pushed that aside as John helped him up.

"I was in the shower," John explained.

"Ah," Rodney replied, brimming with the awkwardness of all the high school students in the country combined. "I got you a ferris wheel."

John took the box from him slowly, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. "I've never had an edible one. Thanks."

"They can make anything edible nowadays. Like underwear, there was underwear, but let's forget I just mentioned that, um." Rodney's eyes looked very blue and bright, like John was intense light coming closer and closer. "I'm sorry. I'm going back and it's because of you and I said some really girly grade school things and I'm sorry I promise to do all the shit paperwork-"

And Rodney couldn't go on because John's lips were on his and John's very naked body was pressed against his and the door was still open and it was all so very hot. He tried to convey his thoughts on the matter but only came up with, "Oh, oh do that again," between deep, exploring kisses and John was the perfect mixture of soft and hard, possessive and surrendering. Rodney hadn't even known this was what he wanted until John gave it to him, but then John was always the perceptive one while Rodney ran around being clueless and grumpy because he thought nobody ever told him anything, when really he just couldn't take a clue even if it grabbed him in the ass. However, the Colonel was very much grabbing his ass at the moment and this was one hint he could managed to figure out.

"Wow," Rodney breathed afterwards. "You traveled a billion light years to fondle me," he whispered in awed reverence.

"I wouldn't say a billion," John drawled, fond amusement etched in his smile and the way he circled a finger on Rodney's cheek.

"I've momentarily lost my handle on space-time variables. Just take it for the mind-boggling compliment that it is." Then Rodney sagged against John, the events of the past few days finally sinking in. "I thought you'd gone."

John simply held him, arms circling tightly around chest and chin resting on shoulder. "I would have said something, you know. I'm not a jerk like you." He chuckled as he felt rather than heard Rodney's sulky mutterings into his neck. "I booked a flight to Colorado for tomorrow. The Daedalus leaves for Atlantis in a few days."

"Cancel it and book another flight with me the day after," Rodney said, pulling back and taking a good look at John from this close proximity. His hair looked even more absurd and Rodney's heart swelled even more like a crushing teenager, if either was possible.

"Why not just book one for tomorrow, too?" John asked, quirking an eyebrow, and Rodney fought the urge to lick the face of his military CO.

"Because I've a few ideas of what we can do in the next couple of days," Rodney replied, closing the door and giving John a significant look.

And for once, John understood Rodney's meaning quite well.

~*~

AN: I'm pretty sure I saw 'worms through the wormhole' somewhere but can't remember where, but I found it so amusing I had to work it in somehow. But, yes, it's not mine. :D